Problem Child
by WargishBoromirFan
Summary: Trying to get around fraternization laws is difficult. Keeping a forbidden family secret under the noses of the Homunculi is harder. Doing so with Edward Elric around? Roy & Riza are about to learn the meaning of impossible. Last chapter: A son unmasked.
1. Prologue: Bad Taste

A/N: Fullmetal and company belong to Arakawa. I do have more of the Mustang Gang coming (and perhaps even - miracle of miracles - an action sequence,) but for now, a background-prologue-drabblish-thing, featuring lots of pink, even if the word is never mentioned. And oh dear gods, I suck with honorifics, but that's because I'm not certain there's an english equivalent that's not too formal or too disrespectful. Language transmutation, anyone?

* * *

Mere hours after the birth, the man had come barreling into the room, mowing down a hapless intern or two in his overjoyed wake. "Congratulations, Lieutenant Hawkeye! Of course, we were all certain that you and the baby would be healthy, but I had to come see for myself. After all, it's not every day that someone so close to the Fuhrer gives birth…" 

Hugh's mother braced firmly against the muscular shoulder before her coworker could envelope both of them in a bone-crushing hug, and placed a finger beneath the curled blond mustache to keep him from speaking any further. "Watch what you say, Armstrong. I'm thankful for your concern, but we have to be very careful. The shadows have ears."

"Don't you mean the walls?" Major Alex Armstrong surveyed the maternity suite warily, offering Elysia and Gracia Hughes a friendly wave.

"My mistake," Riza Hawkeye agreed. "I'm sure it's the painkillers talking."

"But I don't remember them giving you any medicine, Aunt Riza," Elysia spoke up.

"It was after you left, dear," her mother replied with tired glibness.

"I suppose this means that you haven't gotten any photographs of the new baby yet?" Armstrong asked, trying to distract her.

Fortunately, the girl took after her father. "I got plenty, but they're not ready to develop yet. You want to see the ones I drew, though, Mr. Armstrong?"

"That would be wonderful. The Armstrongs have been patrons of fine artists for generations!"

Elysia wasted no time in pulling out the album once they had gotten settled outside the room. Fortunately, it featured a wide range of subjects, at least a few of whom Armstrong recognized. "…and here's one of Winry-san the last time she came to visit. She said that Mr. Garfiel's thinking about opening up a new shop in Central to handle all the new customers, and she's going to be in charge of it! Of course, that means that her Rush Valley patients are going to miss her a lot. She said they might not let her leave, but Mommy told me she was just joking. Mostly. Oh, and here's this one of Salem Bradley. It's kind of dark because he wasn't looking when I took it, but Ed-san thinks it's my best work yet."

"The subtle interplay of light and shadow… The subtle mood of the piece, the dizzying angle lending to an atmosphere of terror…" Armstrong gushed. "Yes, I can understand why Edward Elric would like this one."

The green-eyed girl blushed at the alchemist's complement. "But it makes Salem-senpai look like he's got about six arms. I don't know why Ed-san won't let me show him it."

"I'm sure he has his reasons," Armstrong said with a shrug.


	2. Have to Stick Together

A/N: Well, I got requests for a continuation to "A Coded Confession Over Coffee" and I wanted to do something of an epilogue to "Seven Rejected Photographs from Hughes's Wallet," so I let the muses loose on the ideas and they transmuted them into this. Neither of the previous fics ought to be entirely necessary to understand this one, though this might explain some things about "Coffee."

Warnings for swearing, relationship-to-canon murkiness, (I'm trying to keep to the manga, but if this isn't Jossed, you can call me Seska Tam and burn my library,) hinted spoilers for chapter 73, semi-angsty Royai fluff, a hint of EdWin if you squint, and Edward Elric being Edward Elric. Van Hohenheim would probably not approve. I suppose I'll take responsibility for Hugh Hawkeye, because otherwise Ed would beat me, but Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to H. Arakawa.

* * *

"So this is Bastard Junior, then?" The short visitor gingerly extracted his golden braid from the infant's grip. "He takes after his old man." 

"Edward!" The rebuke and variations thereupon came from several mouths at once, but none were more scandalized than that of the tall suit of armor who had been attempting to amuse the baby with a game of peek-a-boo, having left the funny faces to those with more flexible features. "His name is Hughie," Al informed his elder brother irritably.

"Hugh Hawkeye," Ed said dutifully, a hint of stubbornness continuing to gleam in those golden eyes. "Doesn't exactly look like the bastard who sired him is necessarily much of a father. Therefore, given the need to differentiate: Colonel Bastard." An automail thumb flicked casually in Roy Mustang's direction. "Bastard Junior." Ed substituted his flesh index finger for the hank of hair in the tiny grasp. Hughie attempted to raise it towards his mouth, although the infant had not yet developed the legendary Hawkeye aim. Without direction from Edward, it hovered in the general vicinity of Hugh's downy black hairline. The young Hawkeye sucked contentedly at empty air anyway.

"You will refrain from insulting my commanding officer or my son when I made my own decision, Major Elric." Riza Hawkeye had been confined to bed rest, but that made her no less dangerous. Edward took an involuntary step back. Deprived of his toy, Hughie began to whimper before Gracia rocked him expertly back into quietude.

"No offense to you, Lieutenant," Ed apologized quickly, keeping his automail arm between the new mother and his vital organs. "It just irritates me when the father can't be bothered to take responsibility, is all."

Mustang lifted the baby from Gracia's arms. Two pairs of almond-shaped eyes - one set gray, one set the same wine-brown as his mother's - studied each other briefly before Roy brought Hughie over to Riza's bedside. "As much concern as you're showing, one might almost think that you were the father, Fullmetal."

Ed cringed from a phantom wrench and an all-too-solid hollow metal elbow. "Nah, we bastards just have to look out for one another. It's not like we've got anyone else to consider us his Pride and joy."

A sudden camera flash interrupted any potential comebacks Al, Roy, Riza, or Gracia might have had to offer. "Did I get it at the right time, Ed-san?" Elysia Hughes asked excitedly, clutching her father's bulky camera to her chest. "I took it just after you said the code words and Aunt Riza and Uncle Roy really did look surprised!"

"Seems perfect to me," Ed said, smiling widely. "Let's see, I think that'll be five hundred cenz for keeping my mouth shut, two hundred for the witnesses, -"

"Pride?" Mustang attempted to object, but Fullmetal refused to let him get more than a word in.

" - Each, and let's make it twenty for the sitting fee. Oh, and forty more for our clever little camera lady. She does good work at... getting me certain information." The younger State Alchemist patted Elysia's head, his lips pulled back with evil triumph.

Elysia offered a slightly confused smile, not quite understanding why her "Uncle Roy" was counting out coins into her unofficial "big brother's" hand, muttering the whole time.

"Ed, you know this isn't fair," Alphonse said, pushing away the money Roy Mustang held out to him.

"Of course it's not," Roy grumbled, turning Al's hand over and dropping the coins into his palm. "Can I get extras?" he muttered to Elysia as he paid his best friend's daughter.

"Sure, Uncle Roy. Ed-san said to tell the developers that it was a Hughes order and they'd make as many copies as we needed."

"Blackmail me in bulk, Elric, but watch where they end up," Mustang directed. "I am trying to do what's right for the Lieutenant and Hughie Hawkeye."

"You do all right, sir," Riza said, her eyes on the baby in her arms. "I'm sure Brigadier General Hughes would be proud to see you keeping up the tradition." The new mother glanced briefly towards the older woman in the room.

Gracia accepted her share of the "bribe" as gracefully as she could. "Maes would be glad to know he's helping with it."

"Mommy, how is Daddy helping? Does this mean that he's still getting his work done even in heaven?" Elysia ran up, handing her mother the money and camera and wrapping her arms around her.

"As long as we help him." Gracia nodded gently to Riza and rose from her seat. "I'll explain outside, honey."

"You're only paying me to do this because you know Havoc and Breda would never let you live it down if you did it yourself, aren't you?" Edward asked Roy as he pocketed the money, waving as his secret weapon and her mother walked out the door.

Mustang smirked. "Bastards have to stick together. Now, Fullmetal, I believe you owe me seven hundred and sixty cenz for various debts..."

"I'll include it with the wedding present." Ed waved him off. "But first, we've got Bradley's fraternization laws and a problem child to deal with."

"It shouldn't be too hard if we've got friends in the right places." Roy turned and gave the Hawkeyes a wistful smile.

"We'll be here, Colonel," Al reassured him, the clink of his salute echoing in the maternity suite.

"Feh, save the lovey-dovey bullcrap," his elder brother said. "I know how to show off embarrassing photos."

"There are times when you scare me, Edward," the first lieutenant said, holding her son a little tighter.

"Trust me, Lieutenant Hawkeye, I have yet to scare anyone properly." Edward Elric rubbed his hands together gleefully, mentally composing the instructions-cum-blackmail-cum-friendly notes to be inscribed on the back of each photo. Mustang had given him the gists of the information that needed to be sent to each member of his team, but there was no reason why Ed couldn't add a bit more of his own personal twist on top of the delivery method. It would just make things more realistic that way. Sneaking things past the current Fuhrer might be joy enough for the colonel, but as far as Ed was concerned, it wasn't proper intrigue until it started to mess with even his own head.


	3. Son of Many Fathers

A/N: If I were making money off of this, I'd be wearing a much shinier hat. I wouldn't take the chapter title as literally for Hughie as it's meant for Mr. Fusspot, but you know Mustang is hardly going to be the only influence on his son. Whether or not that's a good thing remains to be seen. Barry is gone (insane), but not forgotten.

* * *

Breda pushed the piece forward, watching his opponent carefully. "I don't see why you bother," Havoc said, watching over his colleague's shoulder. "He's never going to beat you." 

"It's nice to get a new opponent every now and then," the redhead replied, toying with a pawn before setting it into position. "Keeps me sharp."

His new challenger hesitated, lifting a knight before setting it back down. "Use your queen," Falman recommended.

Jean waved the would-be chess coach away and lit another cigarette. "Let the kid learn on his own. Besides, any idiot knows that you oughta castle while you have the chance."

"And how many hours did you spend locked away in your apartment playing chess with a homicidal tin can?" Vato Falman shot back.

Teeth clenched firmly around his smoke, Havoc lifted himself higher in his wheelchair. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Not if you're referring to Fullmetal Boss's brother." Breda held the candy bowl out to Hughie in recognition of a move well played.

"Nah, Al's hardly a killer. I'm talking about Edward," Jean Havoc said, ignoring his compatriots' glares. "The shrimp was trying to kill me during rehab, I swear. He'd hide my pack at the other end of the room and wouldn't even let Alphonse grab them for me when I'd been doing enough pulling and flexing to make Armstrong tired. Then he insisted on what he called 'fine motor skills' and what anyone whose fingers were bigger than a string bean would call impossible. Seriously, trying to make me think when I'm exhausted and shaky? He obviously wasn't trying to brush up his skills to beat Manny. Hughie, if you learn nothing else from us, listen to me now: don't get injured around the Fullmetal Chief. He doesn't have room for a single grain of sympathy in that crazy smart little head of his."

Breda's small opponent nodded seriously around his sucker, although Fuery chose that moment to speak up, adjusting his glasses nervously. "You know he's not that bad, right? Ed was just pushing you because he knows what it's like, not having a leg to stand on…"

Havoc shook his head. "Nothing's wrong with my legs, Kain. Even if automail could fix my back I couldn't do it, though. Ed's bad enough without bringing his mechanic into this, too."

"She's one of the few people that scares him," Falman whispered reverentially.

Breda clucked at the chessboard before him, interrupting their conversation. "You know this one, Hughie."

"But I took your queen, Sergeant Breda!" Hugh said.

"True." Heymans Breda silently lifted a bishop and plunked it over Hughie's rook. "But you forgot to watch ahead. Check."

"But they're nowhere near my king!" The young Hawkeye leaned over the board, silently tracing the squares with a fingertip.

"Only pawns, knights, and kings have to be. Rooks and bishops can strike anywhere on their path." Eventually, the boy reached the same conclusion that Breda and Havoc had already foreseen, slumping back in his chair and turning the stem of the lollipop in an annoyed circle with his tongue, unconsciously mimicking the gingery blond lieutenant with a cigarette.

"Mate, sir," Hughie Hawkeye said glumly, turning the black king on its side before reaching for the captured pieces. "I'll get you next time!"

"Unfailing Mustang ambition," Jean observed innocently.

Kain Fuery elbowed him into silence, eyes focused on the board. "I'd say we've all got a touch of it."

Breda shrugged, never looking up. "We're still alive, aren't we? Next time, we'll try poker, Hughie. That oughta give these spectators a better sport."


	4. Definition of the Term

A/N: You asked, so here it is: more of the Mustang gang's reactions. I'm way too cruel to Falman and Havoc to own Fullmetal Alchemist.

* * *

"Lieutenant Falman?" 

"How can I help you, Hughie?" The boy was definitely Riza's, all right. It was one thing to know that the youngster would be well-behaved, but to be saluted every time he came to Central, even while off duty, was almost unnerving. Vato had seen Hawkeye train her dog. He wondered occasionally if she'd used a similar method on her son, and then thanked his lucky stars that he was only her former coworker.

"Permission to ask a question, sir?" Really, and people said that he was uptight about military procedure… They were at a party, or more precisely, just outside a party. Falman had stepped out front of the Hughes place to take in the warm sunshine, ignoring the looks of disbelief Fuery and Breda shot him. It was at least forty-five degrees Fahrenheit out here. Compared to Briggs, it was hot.

"Speak freely, Private Hawkeye," Falman told the small boy, only half-joking. Hugh Hawkeye would be a military brat, if there was anything bratty about him, but mostly he was just military.

At those words, Hughie at least relaxed his stance, rocking nervously on the balls of his feet. "Well, I asked Al and Lieutenant Havoc and Sergeant Fuery, and they wouldn't answer me…" Alphonse Elric was probably the only person over the age of eighteen that Hughie didn't feel obligated to add at least a "mister." It wasn't "Uncle," but it still made Falman wonder how he did it. "Lieutenant Havoc told me that you had a better understanding of the word, so I ought to ask you. So, Lieutenant Falman, what's a bastard?" The eyes were innocent-looking and brown, but for just a moment, Vato saw Roy Mustang staring up at him from beneath that slicked-back short black hair.

No, this was something purely out of Jean Havoc's evil sense of humor. Mustang wouldn't have had to get involved. If Falman was lucky, the colonel wouldn't even have to hear about it. "Where did you hear the term, Hughie?" he hedged, trying to come up with an innocuous definition that did not include the words "Jean," "Kain," or "Hawkeye is going to _kill_ me." Vato's mind refused to cooperate. _She'll shoot me in the spine and then have Roy slow-roast me while she uses me for target practice. Then she'll let Hayate have a new chew toy…_

"At school, sir." If anything, Hughie looked more uncomfortable than Falman did. "John said that I was one."

_Oh_, Vato thought. He respected Riza Hawkeye's abilities, but he wondered sometimes if she should have pushed the Fuhrer harder for retirement, or at least an individual pass around the fraternization laws. But she and Mustang were stubborn, and the Homunculi's attempts to frighten them into submission only made them more determined than ever to rid the country of all the remaining Sins and their Father, to boot. In the meantime, Hughie was left to struggle with less immediately dire problems. Falman supposed that it was the only proper route, but that didn't make it a fair one. All of Mustang's dogs deserved a little more happiness, and Hughie hadn't volunteered for this.

In this instance, neither had Falman, but he had long ago learned that being under Roy Mustang's command meant doing far more than shooting at the enemy and writing reports. If it meant explaining some awkward things to two of his former colleagues' son, it was still not quite so bad as some of what he had had to do under General Armstrong. "In a certain sense, I suppose he's right. Technically, a bastard is one whose parents were not wedded to one another when he or she was born. This is no reflection on the quality of the person's personality or moral fiber, however."

"So… it's okay to be a bastard?" Hughie asked, stilling his nervous rocking.

"As far as this definition of the term goes, certainly." Falman was feeling rather pleased with himself, up until Hughie Hawkeye started towards the door and then turned back around.

"Permission to ask one more question, sir?"

"Granted. Go ahead, Hughie." Falman should have known to run for the hills, but he had to get cocky, didn't he? It probably went back to Havoc's complaints about Vato's status as a field-stupid pencil pusher.

"Why does Colonel Mustang get upset when Major Elric calls him a bastard?" There was no question in Falman's mind: Hughie Hawkeye was most definitely Roy's boy. That follow-up went beyond Havoc-caused havoc and Breda-like manipulation to downright dirty fighting tactics. Hugh's father would be so proud. "Isn't he one, too?"

"Yes," Vato Falman said with feeling. "They both are." With any luck, Mustang and Hawkeye would kill Havoc first. Jean would be easier to catch, especially if Falman "accidentally" knocked over Havoc's wheelchair and deflated the tires on his way out of the country. There were times when living on Drachma's border could be a very, very good thing. Why, then, did those times always have to come while he was visiting Central?


	5. Not Far From the Tree

A/N: Okay, so maybe I've got long blonde hair and I can laugh evilly while spinning in a cloak. I have absolutely nothing to do with the creation of this untrustworthy #23, or any of these so-called dogs running about. (/obscure Wolf's Rain parallels) And while I generally stick to the FMA manga because I all needed to know about anime I learned from watching Youtube, say hello to Havoc's little Shambala-conquering friend. Also, need I mention spoilers up to Chapter 78, at least?

Many, many apologies to my long-time readers and reviewers for the bass-ackwardness of my chapter postings. I'd think I'd have this bad boy laid out, and then you guys inspire me to add in another scene that should by rights go earlier in the timeline. So it's your own darn fault, you know. ;) Thanks for the plotbunnies!

* * *

The sky was a brilliant blue with but only the fluffiest of clouds rolling by, the grass was lush beneath him without being too damp, and the broad summer leaves swayed gently overhead, offering Roy Mustang a bit of welcome shade from the brilliant sunshine. It was a beautiful day for the end of the world.

"Colonel Mustang!" The salute was rushed in Hawkeye's haste to reach him, but Roy returned it crisply, relaxing just in time to catch the boy flying into his arms. "We brought grilled cheese, just in case you forgot."

"Mmm, my favorite." Mustang smiled at the woman waiting warily a few paces behind Hugh Hawkeye. Hayate, meanwhile, seemed more interested in the contents of the colonel's basket than the man himself.

"Mine, too, sir! That's why Lieutenant Hawkeye made enough to go around." Hughie motioned her over.

"No worries there, but it looks like you're going to have to help me eat a lot. You're getting big, Hughie," he said, staggering slightly under the onslaught of his son. "Hello, Lieutenant," Mustang added to the woman who followed watchfully behind their dark-haired child.

"Hello, sir." Riza had not reached for them yet, still leaving one arm looped under the handle of her picnic basket and the other drifting about her hip. Her weapons weren't showing, but Roy was certain that she would no more go unarmed these days than he would leave his home without his ignition gloves. "I thought you said that Lieutenant Havoc was coming, too."

"Is he all right?" Hughie asked, sensing his mother's concern.

"Jean's fine," Roy reassured them. All these years and Mustang still wasn't used to having being paralyzed from the waist down counting as "fine," but like the smoker's cough and occasional nosebleed, Havoc had accepted it and moved on as best he could. All Mustang could do was help push the blond on his way when he needed it. "I have him working on another assignment for me."

"And what would this assignment be, sir?" Riza raised an eyebrow, setting her basket down beside Roy's on the blanket. After a warning look from his owner, Black Hayate made himself comfortable just beyond them, watching the surroundings carefully as if someone else might attempt to steal the food.

Adjusting his grip on Hughie, Roy invited her into their embrace. "Havoc's looking into Rentan-jitsu for me. It's supposed to have great medical benefits, amongst other uses," Mustang said innocently. "Meanwhile, Operation Family Time seems to be coming together nicely," he added in a quiet murmur, dipping his nose in her hair.

For just a moment, Riza Hawkeye let her control loosen, wrapping her arms about her boys and closing her eyes, resting her cheek upon Mustang's shoulder. "Roy…" she sighed in exasperated welcome. "We can't do this. Not in a place as public as the park, sir."

"Can't do what, ma'am?" Hugh Hawkeye twisted in Mustang's arms, trying to view his mother's face.

"Live, Hughie," his father replied coolly, reluctantly raising his head. "Our lives aren't ours, save for what moments we can steal from them."

"It's always been this way, Colonel." Riza stepped back, her spine as straight as if facing a military inspection, but there was still a hint of tenderness in her voice. "We'll manage."

Hugh scrunched his nose in puzzlement. "Who are we stealing our lives from? I don't understand, sirs."

"With any luck, you will never have to." Roy gave him a lopsided grin and mussed the short black hair. Seeing his parents relax somewhat, Hughie offered them a soft smile of his own. "There are plenty of people around, Riza. We may not be able to do anything too unprofessional, but it's safe enough for a picnic." Bending over with their son, Roy began to unpack the baskets. "Besides, it's not like I could plan anything particularly extravagant while the private's keeping an eye on me, right?" The lieutenant shook her head and knelt next to them, trying to ignore the wink Mustang shot "Private" Hugh Hawkeye.

"Yes, sir!" Hugh felt safe amongst Mustang's dogs, for all their teasing and lighthearted quarrels and conversations concerning things that he never fully understood, but it was when he and his mother and the colonel were alone that Riza Hawkeye was most relaxed, which in turn meant that her son could allow himself the most freedom in action and thoughts.

Hughie Hawkeye was not stupid. He knew who his father was. But until that man achieved the position of Fuhrer, he might as well have been sired by King Bradley.

Hughie was to show proper respect and refer to people by their rank. His mother had drilled that lesson into his head as soon as he'd been old enough to babble. This habit had earned him more than a few odd looks, even from the family's closest friends, but to Hugh, it was Elysia and Salem and John and the rest of the children that were strange. Half a dozen women in any shop might respond to the name "Mommy." Only one was "Lieutenant Hawkeye," and all the other adults knew who he was talking about, too. It was much simpler that way.

Still, there was a difference between calling Roy Mustang "Colonel" and maintaining proper soldierly discipline. Hugh Hawkeye had never found it too hard, but it was nice to be able to be as casual around Major Elric and Major Armstrong and Sergeant Breda as they were around him. Well, maybe not quite as casual as the majors. Major Elric, especially, could get to be downright naughty and violent towards his coworkers at times. Hughie didn't plan to throw a punch at a superior officer anytime soon, but he wasn't allowed to sit in Mustang's lap and pass the dog his vegetables around the rest of the military men. Once he finished off his third sandwich, Hughie leaned back in stuffed, drowsy contentment, happy to watch the shadows of the tree play patterns over his parents' features.

"Looks like somebody's ready for a nap," Riza Hawkeye said, brushing her son's bangs back. She tried to keep them short, but a few stray hairs usually found their way into Hugh's eyes. When he slept, they made him look like a younger, round-faced version of his namesake, Maes Hughes, or the way Roy had, that bright day when it had rained…

Mustang raised a hand in unapologetic admission. "Afternoon naps are nothing to scoff at, Hawkeye. Sometimes I think they're the only way I get to sleep with you anymore."

"Sir," Riza said warningly, scanning the park. No one appeared to be in hearing range, but being seen together, even out of uniform, could be a weapon against them in the wrong hands.

As usual, Roy attempted to press his luck, wrapping an arm about her, and as she always did when danger did not present itself at the gesture, Hawkeye gave in, leaning against his side and watching the other families enjoying the park on a lazy Friday afternoon. In Roy's lap, Hughie yawned and shut his own eyes, allowing his breathing to slow to the rhythm of his father's. Riza felt her own eyes growing heavy as the shadows began to grow and slowly turned around their shade tree, the boughs waving like tiny arms in the breeze.

"Mr. Salem Bradley?" Hughie's sleepy greeting jolted her back awake. Hayate let loose a low growl, pinning back his ears. "Did you come for a picnic, too?"

"Not today, Hughie." The smallest homunculus's expression was too bland, too unearthly. If the smile wasn't on Pride's face, it was probably lurking just around the corner… in the shadows… The park was suddenly too empty.

"Colonel!" Riza pushed his arm off of her, shaking him into a half-wakened stupor. "Wake up, sir; we've got company!"

"No need to stand on ceremony for me, Lieutenant Hawkeye," Salem said, nodding his greeting. "We know what's been going on here. There was never enough evidence to shame the two of you out of the military, but we don't need evidence among us here, do we? What we need are sacrifices, and perhaps a hostage to insure good behavior. Tell me, Flame Alchemist, has your son been following in your footsteps? He seems like a smart boy, and you've had some experience with child alchemists."

Mustang blinked and gulped, not fully awake, but getting very close to it, one hand wrapped protectively about Hughie and the other reaching automatically for his gloves. "Colonel Mustang is the last that will be trained in the secrets of flame alchemy," Riza Hawkeye said firmly, feeling her back pressing against the tree. Her hand drifted to the pistol at her side.

Salem gave a slow, mechanical smirk, the black hands and staring eyes coming to envelope him in a cloud. Riza felt those tiny, strong, sharp fingers ghost over her flesh on their way. Lost from sight, her dog yelped in pain. "Is that so? Well, it seems to me that we only require one hostage."

Hughie began to choke, and Riza pulled uselessly at the black shadow about his throat, pulling loose her gun with the other hand. It wouldn't stop Pride, but it might buy them some time… "Leave him alone, unless you want everyone in this city to know what sort of monster you are!" She fought the writhing limbs back long enough to squeeze off a shot at the humanoid body of the homunculus, but Pride hardly even stumbled before tightening hundreds of tiny otherworldly arms about her wrists as well.

"Oh, but they will." A snap of Roy's fingers ignited the air near Salem, with no affect upon the tendrils around Hugh's throat. Riza trusted him with her back, but there was no way to contain a fireball so close to their child's windpipe, nor could she risk a shot into those writhing shadowy limbs. "They will, but they'll have no idea what to do about it," Pride continued once his lips had regenerated. "The leader of the country and his son are unnatural constructs made from the blood of thousands? Central will be in chaos. Bloody, deadly chaos. And no more of that, Mustang. It stings." Two more tendrils tore away the ignition gloves and Hawkeye's pistol before she had the chance to properly aim it. Hughie was in tears, gasping for breath. Roy made as if to stand, but his son's frantic wriggling and a ghostly black arm forced him back against the tree.

"I don't suppose you ever heard the expression 'pick on someone your own size.'" The man was tall, bespectacled, and in possession of all his limbs, with his long blond hair pulled back in a neat ponytail rather than a messy braid, but the bearded mouth was set in an expression that Roy and Riza knew very well.

"You!" Shadowy limbs shot towards newcomer, but stopped short of ever actually touching him, falling aside like a parted wave as the blond strode towards Salem.

"Did you at least get my message to your Father, or have you been busy tormenting these young ones?" More limbs shot out towards the broad-shouldered man, Roy and the Hawkeyes temporarily released as the black cloud attempted to engulf the golden-eyed stranger.

But no… he had not been swallowed by the shadows. Another step, and Salem was driven back, the eyes and maws of the dark aura surrounding the homunculus widening with surprise. "You will die if you challenge us, Hohenheim! You're one of his creations as much as we are!"

Hohenheim lifted the scrawny body of the Fuhrer's adopted son, bringing him to eye level. "Yes, I suppose that's true. But I want to die someday, Pride. I just can't do it while he's in a position to do this to someone else." Salem struck out with a human fist; his aura sucked from view the moment Hohenheim laid a hand on him. The tall blond stared at the homunculus blankly, adjusting his glasses when the boy managed a glancing blow to his face.

Having assured herself that both of her men and the dog were still breathing, despite the bleeding wounds and bruises and Hayate's worrying stillness and the arms Roy had wrapped tightly around Hughie's shoulders in relief, Riza Hawkeye moved in for gun and gloves. Hohenheim nodded as she picked them up and ran back towards her family. "I hate to do this to you, Salem," he whispered.

"Then stand back and let me." Mustang had stepped in front of his son, moving to meet Riza halfway. Those dark gray eyes were as hard and cold and long-forgotten ash as she handed him his gloves and then pulled back the hammer of her pistol, just in case.

Hohenheim made no move to put Pride down. "Do it, then."

"Get back. You'll get burnt," the colonel snapped, raising his fingers warningly to repeat the gesture in a more literal fashion.

Hohenheim smiled; his lopsided grin the same as Ed's, but the light in his eyes somehow reminding Riza more of Alphonse. "I'll live."

"Not the way I'm transmuting." Roy's expression held no sympathy for the boy-shaped creature in the tall man's grip. "Riza, Hughie, you ought to back up, too." It looked as if Hugh would learn what they stole their lives from, after all.

"Make it quick, Colonel." Hohenheim stood firm, and Mustang's fingers clicked. Riza attempted to shield Hughie's eyes, but she could feel the heat of the explosion from ten paces away. She ran a comforting hand through her trembling son's hair, cautiously looking up.

Roy had always been talented with his alchemic abilities. Since Ishval, he could contain even the most fearful infernos to a concentrated area. Hohenheim looked down at the blackened stub of his right arm, and then watched as it slowly grew back, tissue by tissue. He continued to stare at the resultant hand as if its regeneration surprised him as much as it had Mustang and Hawkeye.

"We still have a long road ahead of us before we can get rid of these bloody hands, don't we?" Van Hohenheim murmured to himself, turning it over.

Roy removed his gloves, backing towards the Hawkeyes. To anyone else, his expression might be unreadable, but Riza recognized the twitch of his lips, the blink of his eyes, and the tremble of release in his hand as he stripped off the ignition gloves, careful to keep his eyes from Hohenheim's. "I suppose we do."

The blond looked up and smiled, striding up and alongside Roy, his hands stuffed once more in his pockets. "You two have a good son, Colonel."

"Thank you," Hawkeye said, letting a sobbing Hughie run to hold his father just as tightly as Mustang had held him earlier. Riza followed behind, embracing Roy as well.

A heavy huffing and puffing approached from the other side of the shade tree, accompanied by the occasional curse, an increasing amount of clanking, and complaints of "what do you mean, your damn wheel is stuck _again_? Can't you just pick him up, Al?"

"You bastard!" the first one on the scene greeted them, swinging his fists. "Bastard, bastard, bastard!"

"Hey, Hughie! Hello, Lieutenant Hawkeye, Colonel Mustang. I'm glad to see you're all all right. Hello, Father," Alphonse offered more diplomatically as he held his brother back, the automail arm already sporting a familiar long blade.

Havoc scratched at the back of his head, slouching over the heavy automatic in his lap. Behind him, Breda bent double and rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "Looks like you didn't need the cavalry after all, Chief," Havoc said. "We saw a fireball and figured it meant trouble."

"It did, but Lieutenant Hawkeye and I handled it, thanks to Hohenheim here." Roy left his hands upon his family's shoulders. Al released his brother's, as soon as Edward grudgingly transmuted his arm back to normal.

Ed still used it to land a solid blow on Hohenheim, causing his father to stumble and fall onto his back in the wilted grass. "You bastard," Fullmetal snarled once more, setting an automail foot upon the tall man's chest. "What the hell were you thinking, going in there with no idea what you were facing, no backup, and no way to call for help? Not only could you have gotten yourself killed, but Hughie and Lieutenant Hawkeye and Colonel Bastard could've died as well."

"I knew what I was doing." Van Hohenheim stared just as seriously back up at his elder son.

Ed looked away, lifting his foot. "Well, don't do it again. You might upset Al."

Roy offered Hohenheim a hand up as Edward stalked over to check on Riza and Hughie with his brother. The armored alchemist was kneeling beside Hughie in front of the tree, talking very softly and even more gently than he usually did. "So do you. Two of them."

Breda took a few more steps, and then set his hands to brace against his knees once more. His breathing had slowed, but his heart was still racing. "Boss… Just what were you facing?" Heymans's eyes were locked on the scorched patch of earth.

"Pride. It's been taken care of." Mustang nodded to Hawkeye over Edward and Hughie's heads. "It's on my hands."

Havoc dropped his lighter, his victory cigarette falling from his lips unlit. "With all due respect, sir, _are you out of your hot little head, Roy_? You and Hawkeye took on a homunculus alone with no backup? After what we've been through?" Ed's head shot up automatically at the word "little," but the flash of anger quickly changed into worry.

"And if Pride's gone, Bradley will be after us like the Wrath of god, if you get my drift," Heymans Breda added, still staring at the grass as if it could part and release Salem Bradley at any moment.

"We didn't have much choice. He was strangling our son to death in my lap," Roy growled, stepping around Al and putting an arm around Riza. To his relief, she returned the gesture, steadying him as she always had.

Hugh reached as high as he could to get Mustang's attention. "Sir, I didn't think we were supposed to talk about that…" he whispered nervously, his eyes flickering from his mother to the tall man in glasses who still held himself a little apart from the others.

Roy held the small hand against his chest, wondering how it could be so cold to the touch when he could still feel body heat from both Hughie and Riza. "They already know, Hughie. It's okay," Hawkeye assured him with a light stroke through his hair. "Sometimes I think the only ones we were fooling were ourselves."

"Damn right," Jean Havoc muttered around his recovered - slightly squished - cigarette, shielding his smirk with a hand cupped around his lighter. Out of the corner of his eye, the colonel saw a metal helmet tilt forward in agreement. Ed and Breda didn't even bother to hide their nodding grins or the snort that issued from Fullmetal. "So what do we do now, boss? You know General Armstrong wanted to take Pride and Wrath down personally. From what I know of her, she's not one to cross, and from what Falman's said, she's only gotten more dangerous since those Eastern-Northern training missions." The wheelchair-bound smoker nervously stroked the machine gun in his lap, as if he might soon find a use for it after all.

"I'm not messing with her," Ed put out a hand as if to reject any potential orders Mustang might give him. The Elric brothers, too, had had some dealings with the Northern Cliff of Briggs since just before she returned to Central.

Roy nodded his understanding. "I suppose we'll have to trust her, then. And if her blade is not fast enough to meet Bradley's, we'll take his blades away. It's time to move this into the open now. We cannot fear shadows."

Riza's arm was snug against his back and the sun was once again warm upon their heads. "Not any longer, Roy," she said, offering a small smile.

"Alphonse? May I see?" A finger tapped delicately at the shoulder spike, more noteworthy for the ringing it produced than anything that might have possibly been felt.

Ed shot him a murderous glare. "You're too late, old man." Al moved anyway, letting his father crouch next to the small, furry body.

Wire-framed golden eyes met Edward's with mild remorse. "Far too late," Van Hohenheim acknowledged. "But fortunately there are others who know what they're doing." Edward Elric nodded his grudging thanks at the complement, and Black Hayate cracked open an eyelid, offering Hohenheim a half-raised lip.


End file.
